To Whom It May Concern
by lilyamongthorns
Summary: AU. Pepper is a professor at UCLA, and when a new batch of employees is hired on, she meets the mysterious guy with the shades. Is he all she thinks he is? Or is he hiding a few secrets of his own? Eventual Pepperony. Natalie/Happy. The Civil Wars - To Whom It May Concern. K for now.
1. Chapter 1

"No, Mister Thompson. There's just no possible way I can…"

"Look, Potts. You're a really nice lookin' lady. Smokin' hot actually." James Thompson swaggered forward, flattening his palms against the glass of his English professor's desk. "All I'm asking for is a few points. Please, they'll kick me out if I don't pass. And I'm not opposed to trading favors." His eyebrows wiggled, and Pepper tried not to cringe. Did he manscape those caterpillars?

"And I'm not opposed to reporting your shameless and inappropriate behavior to the president of our university, Mr. Thompson. Will that be all?" She gave her best all-the-things-I-wish-I-could-say smile.

The boy straightened up, puffing his chest out to properly display the Greek symbols emblazoned on his chest. She wondered if those shirts were painted on. He never seemed to wear any other item of clothing. All the men strutted about campus, proudly sporting matching shirts, Crocs—or worse, those awful flip-fops—elbowing one anther like chickens, and speaking the awful calamity this generation had made of the English language.

He turned for the door, but before he pulled it shut behind him, Pepper spoke. "And Mr. Thompson. Kindly show yourself to the bathroom. I can see your, ahem…ego...through your cargo shorts."

She watched in delight as the tips of his ears reddened while he exited.

Satisfied, she shook the computer mouse on her desk, rousing her computer to life. These student infatuations that happened among her male students were normal, but it never failed to creep her out.

She'd learned after three years of being employed here that sharp quips and threatening expulsion from the Pan-Hellenic board was all that was needed to send them running scared.

Pepper wasn't blind to the fact that she was pretty. And to her, it was ok to be confident in that. She was young professor, the youngest in her department, and it could only be expected from men whose hormones raged like wildfire and who were used to getting their way with whatever floozy traipsed by.

Her electronic calendar prompted her about a deans' meeting in twenty minutes. They'd hired on a new round of professors in the department of science, and for whatever reason the dean of the university felt it appropriate to hold luncheons to acquaint the new staff. Pepper had been teaching English at UCLA for three years, and by a lucky strike had been offered the job as dean of the department. It wasn't such a fancy job. It was mostly paperwork, office hours, and on top of that teaching two courses to students who could care less about their work. She honestly didn't have time to schmooze with professors outside of her department.

But she logged out anyways, clicked on her screensaver and grabbed her purse. She only hoped this time, they actually catered instead of grabbing the cheap food from the cafeteria.

-O-O-O-

"Thompson tried to seduce me today," she sighed over her plate of tuna salad.

Natalie pursed her lips, trying not to laugh.

"Its not funny!" Pepper dropped the tongs back into the salad bowl and continued down the table of food that had been prepared for their luncheon.

"You're right. Its disturbing. Disturbingly hilarious," Natalie answered, nudging Pepper's shoulder at the end of the table.

Pepper rolled her eyes. Natalie Rushman had been her partner in crime since her arrival at UCLA. The two had hated each other at first, Pepper being Natalie's successor when she was bumped to the lower level classes. But the grudge was soon forgotten and the women became friends quickly after a scandal involving a love triangle between them and a fellow professor. Needless to say, the two women had ruined his tenure and he was now probably wiping noses at some public high school in Suburbia.

She slid into an empty chair and Natalie perched beside her, tossing a mane of red curls over one shoulder, catching the attention of several men at the table across from them. Several other professors sat around the table with them, none of which Pepper really wanted to associate with. As far as she was concerned, this was free food.

"Well actually, if you did your research, you'd know that weapons are a necessity. Weapon technology isn't just used to making bombs and guns." She heard one man pipe up from across the table. Intrigued, she looked up over her forkful of tuna salad. The man who spoke must've been one of the new professors. She would've remembered him.

His brow furrowed when he talked, and his goatee punctuated his chin almost animatedly. He pointed a skewered grape at the man across from him, bouncing the fork casually between his fingers. "Look, I'm not gonna argue. Cuz I know I'm right," she heard him say. She watched his prideful smirk and smug eye roll. She was almost certain he was new. She would've noticed him before. He was much too…too…oh, God she was losing it.

"Um…earth to Pepper," Natalie said, jabbing her heel into Pepper's calve. She jumped, slamming her knees on the underside of the table and startling the other guests, including Mr. Handsome.

"Sorry," she murmured, feeling a blush creep over her cheeks. She straightened her skirt beneath her and sat again, glaring over at Natalie who was attempting not to choke from laughter.

But the man was focused on her now. This didn't help to staunch the rush of heat along her face and neck. She was certain she was almost as red as her hair at this point. His eyes locked on hers, holding her gaze, his jaw set firmly. She almost cowered under his powerful scrutiny. It was almost as if she'd offended him.

She finally broke the stare and glanced away back to her plate. But his gaze was still on her, she could tell.

-O-O-O-

She never got his name, never actually struck up a conversation before the luncheon had ended and her second round of lectures began. She managed to leave the office before nine, all essays graded and ready for peer revision the next morning. Pleased with her work but dead on her feet, she trudged to the parking garage.

The majority of professors were gone by now, leaving the area mostly empty. But before she could toss her computer bag into the truck of her Prius, there was a shout. At first she jumped, but it came again and didn't sound distressed.

She glanced around, trying to locate anyone among the few cars that were parked. She noticed the man from earlier, poking his head through the window of his Audi. He had on shades, balanced on the edge of his nose. He peeked over them to inspect her from his spot a few places down.

"What's your name?" he called again, his voice bouncing off the concrete walls around them.

She floundered a moment, opening her mouth but not making any sound.

He peered farther out the window, as if prompting her again to answer.

"Its Pepper," she answered, not sure if her voice carried far enough.

He didn't show any sign that he'd heard until he spoke again. "Pepper? Like the condiment?"

If only she had a nickel for every time she'd heard that one. Her arms folded over her chest and her weight shifted. "Yeah. It's a nickname. And in case you didn't realize, its dark outside. Driving with sunglasses on is dangerous."

He winked slyly. "My shades aren't the only dangerous part about me."

"Please," she muttered under her breath. She rolled her eyes and turned away, reaching to open her door and slide inside the car. She heard his engine rev a few times before he sped off, leaving behind the echo of his souped up sports car.

Pepper had learned her lesson long about dating professors. And maybe Mr. Handsome, whatever his real name was, wasn't all he seemed to be.


	2. Chapter 2

"She digs him."

"I don't know, Nat. They've only seen each other once. People think people are attractive. That doesn't mean much. Its just human nature. That doesn't mean she's into him." Happy reached onto his girlfriend's plate and grabbed her buttered croissant before stuffing it in his mouth.

"I'm just saying. I know my friend, and she digs him. Trust me. I give it a week."

"A week?" he sputtered around the flaky pastry. "Pepper's not that trigger happy."

"No but this guy is. I can tell. Trust me. I have a sixth sense." She speared a forkful of lettuce. "And stop stealing my food." She eyed him coldly.

He finally swallowed his mouthful. "What? You don't even eat carbs," he answered mockingly.

She rested her fork against the rim of her plate. "You really wanna see me angry, Hogan?" The corner of her mouth twitched, unable to keep her composure in front of him.

"If I make you angry, does that mean you'll speak Russian to me?" His eyes glinted excitedly making her grin.

She felt her face flush. He was the only one who could bring down her defenses. "You suck," she teased.

He only laughed. His palm came to rest over hers on the table between them.

"I wouldn't worry about Pepper. She's a big girl," he assured.

"I'm not worried about her. It's the man I'm worried about. Pepper's got this way of breaking hearts while keeping her white gloves on. She'll wait for him to make the first move, but she's got a lot of insecurities with relationships. I've seen it happen."

"Just let whatever happens happen. If the guy's smart, he'll know what he's getting himself into."

"Do you know him?" she asked, moving her hand back to her lap.

Happy straightened up. "Yeah. He's sort of a big deal apparently. He's got tons of degrees….graduated MIT at seventeen or something. His dad started Stark Industries."

Natalie nearly choked on her salad. "Excuse me? Stark Industries?"

Happy rolled his eyes. "Oh now you're gonna get hot for him? Look, I know you've got a thing for guns and stuff but…"

"No you idiot, don't you realize? He's a super-genius…and he's rich!"

"Is this good or bad? I don't…"

She smacked his arm. "Shut up!"

"Ow!" he complained, feigning pain and holding his bulging bicep.

But Natalie was undeterred. "I've got to tell Pepper." She reached for her purse below her chair, but Happy nudged it out of her reach with his foot. She glared, tossing her mess of red curls over her shoulder. He loved it when she did that. Most of all he loved it when she looked at him like that.

"We're on a date. Remember the rule? No texting. Besides, just let Pep find out for herself."

Natalie slumped back into her chair. "Fine. Whatever."

"You're so cute when you're angry."

"Shut up," she spat, pouting into her plate.

-O-O-O-

Pepper rested the brush neatly in the tray of the easel, stepping back to survey her work. The piece was almost finished and ready for showing at the next opening. The Los Angeles Museum of Fine Arts had yet to display any of her work, much to her chagrin. But she was fine with faculty openings at the university if it was all she could get.

The music blaring from the speakers above her head suddenly silenced. She turned over her shoulder, and rolled her eyes when she caught sight of his figure in the doorway, holding the remote to her stereo. "You again?"

"Me," he said, a sly smirk on his lips that she just couldn't seem to find unattractive. "Paramore?" He replaced the remote on top of the stereo. "A bit mainstream for you, I'd think."

"Stalking me?" she asked, moving to the sink to clean her brushes and wash her hands.

"Just touring around campus. I'm the new guy, after all."

"Spying on private studios isn't touring. Its stalking."

"Well Pepper isn't even a real name."

She shut off the water and flicked the droplets from her fingertips onto his Tom Ford sports coat. "Really mature," she muttered.

"Yeah and throwing water on people is a prime example of maturity," he quipped.

"What's your name, anyways?" she asked, spinning to face him, wringing her hands dry on a towel.

"Tony." His brown eyes caught the sunlight from the transom windows above them and she could see flecks of green. "Stark," he added.

The blush was back, spilling over the collar of her dirtied smock and into her cheeks. She glanced away to toss the towel in the bin beside her and cleared her throat awkwardly. "Stark? Stark like…"

"Howard Stark, yes." He turned away from her now, as if her observation had somehow offended him, facing the finished canvases she had lined along the wall.

"You're really good, by the way." She watched him approach the easel, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Its nice." He waved a hand in the direction of her most recent work. There was no sarcasm in his voice now, as he rocked back on his heels, examining her landscape of the California canyons.

"Thank you. I'm just really dabbling…so…" She took a few steps closer to his side, surveying the work herself.

"Don't be humble. Take pride in it."

She laughed nervously and drew a hand through her ponytail, not sure if she was more uncomfortable with his compliment or being this close to him.

"Wanna go to dinner sometime?"

She glanced up in shock, eyes wide. Then his words sunk in and her defenses went back up.

"You don't beat around the bush do you?"

"I'm not very patient, no," he said, facing her. "I like what I like. And I know what I want."

She glanced back at the painting, noting that she'd have to touch up the whisps of white clouds later. "Sure," she affirmed. "One date. Dinner." She threw his smirk right back at him.

-O-O-O-

It was an entire week until she heard anything from Stark. She went about her classes as usual, dodging pick-up lines scrawled at the end of mid-terms and shooing frat boys from her office in a steady stream. She was almost wishing he'd just call already so that she'd have a break from the hormone-laden males that swarmed her these days.

She wasn't sure yet if she was into him; that's what the date was for. Natalie had pressured her for info, but there really wasn't anything to say right now. He was attractive, but so were many men. And she'd known plenty of men who had the outer shelf of a GQ model, but a heart of stone whose affections were empty and whose gifts were only ploys to get between the sheets.

Men weren't so different from one another, in all reality. Maybe she was being too much of a cynic.

She would very much like to be romanced, to be doted upon. Wined and dined, as they said. But time had proved that this dream just wasn't true for Pepper Potts. She had no time for love, and the dreams of holding a guy's hand in a field of daisies were high school folly. If she was being honest, there was a side of her that desired to be catered to, to be treated like a princess, however Disney-Fairytale that sounded. But this wasn't the movies, and she wouldn't hang around for that prince if he didn't exist.

One afternoon, her computer chirped, indicating she'd received an email. The familiar name in the address made her smirk. The message read:

"Hey, Silver Audi outside your place at 7. Bye."

It was simple. Without a signature. Almost abrupt. Anyone else would've been put off, or taken the wrong context. But she got the feeling that neither of them were very good at flirting or pursuit. She didn't even reply, but instead called up Natalie to meet at the mall after work to find a suitable dress.

-O-O-O-

Black heels just didn't seem appropriate. They were too 'every day' for a night out. Nights like this were few and far in between. Her schedule didn't provide many occasions to wear the black and gold pumps calling her name. She strapped on the bad boys and checked her makeup just once more in the mirror.

The time was nearing seven o'clock and she couldn't help but feel a little nervous. It was only one date, not a huge deal. But this guy was not your average professor. He could've planned some elaborate dinner date and she'd find herself completely underdressed. She told herself that her deep green dress was appropriate. She hadn't been on a date in over a year. Hopefully she still had it in her.

At exactly seven on the dot, her doorbell rang. He stood on her doorstep in dark aviator shades—she should've guessed—a black suit jacket and a red shirt with a silk tie. "Hey," he grinned at her over the rim of his glasses. "You look fancy. Red and green. We're like Christmas."

She couldn't help but smile. "Was that a compliment? I'm not sure." She stepped passed him down the concrete steps. She was caught off guard when his hand slipped into hers. She didn't argue. It was warm and welcomed—for now.

But once they slid into his Audi, she glanced his way and spoke. "I'm not the kind of girl that gives it up on the first date, Stark. So don't get too cozy."

She watched his eyes blaze a darker shade of brown for a moment before he smiled genuinely. "Not my intention at all, Miss Potts." He revved the engine loudly as punctuation and sped off.

Her palms rested against the sleek leather seats, caressing the expensive material. "Where are we going exactly?"

He took one hand from the wheel to push his shades into his hair, messing up the perfect waves it had been carefully sculpted into. He didn't seem to even notice. "You like sushi?"

She nodded.

He just grinned triumphantly to himself, as if he'd guessed correctly.

-O-O-O-

"So Potts, tell me about yourself."

She raised her highball glass to her lips and sipped. "That's broad."

"Alright. Favorite color?"

She cocked an eyebrow, contemplating if this was sarcasm. "Green," she answered finally.

"Red," he replied with a sly smirk, leaning back in his chair, surveying her.

"Brothers and sisters?" she suggested.

He shook his head.

"Me either."

"Well, now that we've got the first day of fifth grade covered…" he teased and she laughed. "Did you grow up in Los Angeles?"

"No. I grew up in Kansas actually."

The corners of his lips twitched. She could practically see the cogs in his brain turn as he imagined her in pigtails and a gingham dress. "Farm girl?"

She blushed and looked down into her martini. "Yeah."

"No, don't be ashamed. Its cute. I can see you now with your little pigtails. Gingham dress." She couldn't help but laugh into her plate at her accuracy.

"Don't tell me you met the Wicked Witch too?"

She chuckled. "No. But as soon as I was eighteen, I was out of there. Trust me. I went to Stanford for my bachelors and masters, NYU for my doctorate."

Tony gawked. "Whoa."

She raised her glass to her lips and smirked over the rim of it. "National Merit Scholar, thank you very much."

"I expected nothing less." He waved a hand casually. "MIT for…everything. Except the doctorate. Didn't need it. Graduating at seventeen is enough clout to get a job anywhere."

"Show off," she teased and he shrugged.

"If you got it fault it."

Pepper rolled her eyes. She was beginning to think that was Tony's mantra in life. The flashy car, the shades, and the fancy dinner. All signs of someone who was affluent and knew it.

But still she was attracted. She could tell there was a gentle, romantic side to him that he showed only when he wanted to. And she'd seen a bit of it tonight. The table they sat at now, wine bottle on ice between them and delicately prepared dishes, was not a symbol to show off. It was a treat for Pepper…because he believed she deserved it. The thought both eased and frightened her. This was only a first date. And Mr. Stark was certainly open about what he wanted, but that didn't mean she was just yet.

-O-O-O-

In the car, she was feeling a little ill.

She rested a hand to her forehead and pressed the back of her palm against the cool glass of the window.

"You ok?" he asked from the driver's seat.

"No," she groaned. "Feeling dizzy."

"Do I need to pull over?"

"I think I'm ok. Probably just the vodka."

"Didn't take you for a lightweight, Dr. Potts."

The comment made her turn to glare at him, but her head swam at the rapid movement. "Ugh…I feel awful." Her hand slid down her face, and she noticed the underside of her chin was tender. Her fingers drifted down a little to the sides of her neck. "Oh no…"

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Did that drink you ordered me have strawberries in it?"

"It…might've…" He glanced in her direction, looking partly concerned, but mostly like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

She groaned and doubled over, pressing her head to her knees. "I'm highly allergic…"

"Oh. God," he panicked. "Do we…what do I…? Do I need to drive to the ER?"

"Uh-huh…" she groaned.

He made a sharp U-turn, causing her vision to blur.

-O-O-O-

"Your face matches your hair."

"Please stop talking."

He just sniffled—was that a chuckle?—and shifted closer to her on the thin hospital mattress. They sat side by side on the bed in the room they'd placed her in. She had been given epinephrine and advised to take some benedryl and sleep. The nurse was readying her discharge papers now.

"Not exactly romantic…"

She groaned and her head fell to her hands. "God this is so embarrassing."

Not only had she blown up like a puffer fish in front of him, but one of her students just happened to be shadowing an RN this evening. She wasn't sure who was more shocked, her or Jenny McFallon, as she handed Pepper her clip-board of information to fill out, practically throwing it at her in her haste. She made a mental note to give her bonus points when she graded her next essay.

She almost jumped when she felt his strong hand against her back. "No. Its fine, really." He gave a light chuckle, not trying to hide it this time. "You're supposed to learn about each other on the first date right? Now I know never to come anywhere near you with strawberries."

She slumped her shoulders, not responding to the touch or his joke. She really just wanted to get home and to bed. This night had been eventful enough.

Once she was discharged, Tony swung by the nearest drug store to pick up some meds and her favorite ice cream. With the pint in her lap and her purse over her shoulder, she turned to face him when he parked outside her townhouse.

"I'm guessing you don't want to do this again sometime, right? I mean I wouldn't want to date a blow fish either."

She figured she'd left the door wide open for some innuendo, but instead he smiled and flexed his fingers against the steering wheel. "Actually, I was gonna ask if next weekend would be ok?"

She blanched a moment. "Yeah. Sure."

"No strawberries this time," he promised, making her smile. Dammit.

"Right." She tucked a piece of crimson hair behind her ear, and before she could lower her hand he'd leaned over to kiss her cheek.

"Goodnight."

She blinked away the stars in her eyes. "Yeah. Goodnight."

"Don't forget to take the Benedryl. And maybe I'll see you in the halls sometime this week. Feel better."

"OK," she said lamely, feeling over her shoulder for the door handle. Once she was out of the car, she hurried as fast as her dizzy head would let her up the stairs and into her bedroom. Now alone and clutching the cool carton of ice cream between her hands, she chickened out. He'd been too kind, too much too soon. Everything was perfect, so why did she have reservations now?

Something in the back of her mind said they'd never work. They were both to independent to make anything committed happen. He made her feel at ease, made her laugh, but logic was logic. And logistics had to be observed.

But this was day one, and next weekend would tell more. There was no reason to get caught up tonight. The night had been decent, even at the hospital he had made her feel comfortable. It was best to wait a few days. For now she needed sleep. She made a mental note to remember to call in sick before shedding her heels at the door and slipping out of her cocktail dress for her pajamas.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Well this was quick…Was not expecting an update so quickly, but some good music helped me out. Oh and also, I know nothing about guns or cars, so bear with me once you get to that part in the chapter.

-O-O-O-

When she entered her office several days later, a huge bouquet of roses greeted her. The fancy kind, all multi-colored and tie-dyed by an expert florist. She had to smile as she plucked the card form the plastic spear. Her name was written sloppily on the tiny envelope, and inside the note read: "Would've gotten you a fruit basket, but I can't be too sure anymore. Roses are hypoallergenic, right? See you this weekend. Wear something comfy."

Try as she might, a blush blossomed over her cheeks and she eased herself into her office chair. She was falling for it, and not slowly at all. This was helpless. Her defenses were useless. The more she tried, the more he pushed his way passed them, and it had only been a few days.

She jumped out of her reverie when her office door slammed open. "Dr. Potts! How dare you not call me. I need details!" Natalie plopped in the chair opposite her with a thud and her eyes grew wide at the sight of the flowers. "Whoa. Fancy."

"Shut up," she said, still smiling, and turned to her computer in an attempt to hide.

"No, you can't pretend like you're busy. I know you don't have class til noon. Come on, spill."

She looked up at her friend. "Alright. If you insist on knowing…dinner was fabulous."

"Did he pay?"

"Of course."

"Did he have a driver?"

"No. We took his car."

"Whoa. Serious."

"Oh please."

"What else?"

She sighed and looked over her friend. "I had an allergic reaction to the strawberries in my drink."

"Oh God, Pepper, you didn't!"

"I did."

Then Natalie burst out laughing, causing Pepper to glare. "So not funny."

"Did you blow up like a puffer fish?" she asked through laughter, covering her mouth with her hand.

"In fact, I did," Pepper said, turning away and back to her computer, feigning offense.

"Oh no, Pepper. I'm not laughing at you…" Natalie tried. "I'm sure everything was fine. What did he say?"

"He didn't seem bothered by it. He asked for another date this weekend."

Natalie practically squealed, if a hard-nosed Russian woman trained in combat and weaponry could squeal. "I knew it. He wants you."

Pepper blushed once more. "Shut up."

-O-O-O-

Shrapnel exploded in all directions, bouncing against the gravel and launching into the clear cerulean sky. Tony pushed up his darkened safety glasses, squinting at the ruined target, lowering the gun from his shoulder.

"Nice shot," his friend spoke beside him.

"Thanks, Colonel. Let's see you beat it."

James Rhodes rolled his eyes and lifted his firearm. "Challenge accepted."

He fired right through Tony's mark, earning a dejected sniff from the tycoon turned teacher.

"So how's school?" he asked his friend, moving to the next target.

"Weird. I don't like being confined that long," Tony admitted, lifting his gun to fire. Certainly, as heir to a multi-million dollar weapons company, he knew how to use his father's machinery. And then some. His favorite place in the factory—besides R&B—was the test center, firing off various missiles and high-powered grenades in the canyons. Mostly because he liked to watch stuff explode. Especially if a few drinks were involved.

Rhodey snorted. "I'm sure. Any hot teachers around there?"

Tony tried hopelessly to hide his smirk as he dismantled his weapon. "Nah."

"Spill, Stark."

In record time, Tony had the weapon refilled and together again. He slung it over one shoulder. "Nope. Sorry, Charlie."

He sauntered away to the targets at a greater distance, up for a challenge that would hopefully deter their conversation from Pepper and back to their competition of who could fire the longest range. Currently, James was winning and Tony had some catching up to do. He was a sore loser, and he knew it.

While they fired, and their conversation was halted by the noise of their firearms, his thoughts drifted to her. To that gorgeous red hair, pinned halfway up, teasing him to run his fingers through it. He'd been chaste in not kissing her. If it were any other woman, he would've. But something was different about her. She was special. He couldn't quite put his finger on it yet, but she was.

His mother would be proud. She'd be fawning over him, up in arms that he might've found the one. She was always worried that he never would. Tony wasn't sure if that was the case yet. He hadn't been searching for that. Never had been. Wasn't sure if he even wanted to. That scared him.

He fired again, this time beating James in hitting a perfect bulls-eye at the target farthest from them.

"Bullseye!" he cried in victory, pushing his safety glasses up again. "Beat that, sucker."

James cocked an eyebrow at him and continued on.

-O-O-O-

He pushed the sleek leather chair away from the long, wide mahogany table and rose to his feet. The room had emptied already, associates, assistants and researchers hurrying back to their offices and cubicles. Now the only people in the massive conference hall were himself and a man he'd despised ever since he could remember.

He heard his father's knuckles rap against the wood of the table while he gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the south lot. "How goes teaching?" Tony wasn't blind to the venom there in his voice. His father hated that Tony had taken this job. It wasn't 'fitting' for someone with 'such potential,' he had said. Which ultimately meant he'd rather have Tony heading up the R&D department than grading papers.

"Its fine," Tony said curtly, leaning beneath his chair to pick up the sleek briefcase there.

He heard his father snort. "You know, you're put to better use here. You're wasting yourself up there…"

The briefcase hit the table with a loud thunk. "I'm not a piece of machinery, Dad. Not everything is about productivity." He made an attempt to keep his voice as even as possible.

"I don't understand why you don't want the job."

"I never said I didn't want it."

"Then why don't you take it? I've given you more than several opportunities. You know that all you have to do is say the word and…"

"I'm confused here," Tony interrupted, lifting a hand to punctuate his agitation. "I thought when I turned eighteen, I was an adult and capable of making decisions by myself. So here we are twelve years later and you're still trying to tell me what to do."

"Don't be a brat, Tony."

"If I am, its your fault."

He watched his father's lips purse and unpurse. "Actually, that'd be your mother…"

Tony felt bile rise in his throat. "Oh, don't you dare, you prick."

"Why does it always have to be like this? We always have to argue like this."

"I wonder why," Tony sighed, slumping his shoulders. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. "Has it occurred to you that any of the kids I'm teaching could be a future employee? That there are dozens of kids out there with incredible potential? I've got a handful of students who could blow these guys out of the water!" He waved a hand over the empty table. "Just because I'm not doing what Daddy wants, doesn't mean it isn't worthwhile. And I'm damn sure not wasting my time."

Tony snatched the briefcase from the table and brushed past his father, in such a hurry to leave the building that he didn't even wave at Obadiah as he slammed open the door to the stairwell.

If there was one person who could get under Tony's skin, it was his father. They'd never gotten along. Ever.

Maria, in her lifetime, had always desired them to have a relationship, and had done everything in her power to facilitate one. But it never happened. They were too alike in many ways. Too smart, too quick, and too ambitious. They were like two bulldozers facing each other head on.

Once he had gotten to his car and out on the PCH, his nerves were calmer but upon entering the UCLA lot, a Prius stalled at the entrance to the garage set him off. He had half an hour before his class began and didn't have time for idiots in his way. He slammed on the horn, causing it to echo against the thick concrete walls.

The driver's window of the car rolled down and a porcelain hand slipped out, shooting the bird. When the door opened and a familiar red head stepped out, he released the horn abruptly.

She rounded the front of her car and struggled to the lift the hood. He tried not to be distracted by her skin-tight pencil skirt when he exited his own vehicle and watched her bend over the bulk of bits and parts beneath the hood.

"Need some help?" he said, approaching her.

She jumped and narrowly missed slamming her head against the hood.

"No…yeah, sure," she said and he chuckled.

"Let's see what we've got here." He bent next to her. "How long have you been having problems?"

"For awhile. This piece of junk is the bane of my existence."

"Lucky for you, you broke down at the perfect spot," he teased, peeking up at the traffic slowly lining up behind their vehicles.

She sighed, placed her hands on her hips, and blew a whisp of red hair from her face. "Yeah, I thought I could just slide on in, but I guess not."

He tugged at something and a plume of smoke clouded his vision, billowing around him and choking him a moment. "Yeah," he coughed. "You've got a serious problem. Gonna have to call it in. Or I could fix it for you." He straightened up and wiped his hands carelessly against the legs of his pants. "Ya know, free of charge."

"No." She shook her head. "I couldn't possibly…"

"Its fine. I get off on this kind of stuff…"

She eyed him curiously, putting her weight on one five-inch heel, a smirk on those pretty pink lips.

He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Yeah that sounded weird."

She laughed lightly.

He whipped his phone from his pocket and typed up the address to his mansion, sending it off in a text to her. "Call in a tow, and have them deliver it to my place. You can come over later tonight and help me out if you want."

Her phone chirped in her blazer pocket, indicating she'd received the message. "Yeah. Sure."

He trotted back to his vehicle, throwing her a wave and narrowly swinging around her vehicle to the ramp into the parking garage.

"Yep, Dad," he spoke to himself as he swung into his normal spot. "Definitely not wasting my time here."


	4. Chapter 4

AN: I promised myself that if I studied tonight for my exam, I'd spend the rest of the night on this chapter as a reward and have it posted…But instead I went to yoga with a friend. Same diff. Enjoy.

-O-O-O-

Promptly at seven once again, he toted her to the mansion from campus. At the sight of the huge steel and glass structure, she had to press her lips together to keep her jaw from dropping open.

"Whoa," she whispered, not aware she'd said it aloud.

Tony laughed and threw the car into park on the smooth stone driveway. "JARVIS," he said, making her jump. "Prepare security protocols."

She stared at him in confusion. The doors of the car unlocked suddenly, without Tony touching a thing.

"Welcome home, sir. Will do," a poised British-accented voice spoke through the car speakers.

He laughed once more at her expression before getting out. She followed suit.

She was beginning to get addicted to that laugh: almost a giggle, like a song, at the back of his throat and held between rows of perfect white teeth. She loved how he smiled when he laughed. How his eyes wrinkled at the edges.

She followed him to the front door, waiting for him to unlock the thing and lead her inside. But instead he grabbed her wrist.

"What…?" she began.

"Pardon me," he said, lifting her hand a pressing it against a glass pane next to the flat earthy-colored door.

She was startled, but watched as blue and white lights blinked beneath her fingers and around her palm, measuring the size and shape of her hand. The British voice spoke again, this time above them.

"Welcome, Miss Virginia Potts."

Tony threw a glance at her, the corner of his mouth turned up. This was the first time he'd heard her real name.

"Call her Miss Potts, JARVIS," he said softly, thickly, and she felt a tremor crawl up her spine at the smokiness in his eyes.

"Certainly. Miss Potts, would you be obliged to enter a 5-digit pin onto the keypad?"

Where her palm had been, now a square ten digit keypad glowed.

"This pin will grant you Level One access to the house, which includes the ground floor only."

"Level Two, JARV," Tony prompted.

"Of course, sir. This will allow Miss Potts access to the ground floor as well as restricted access to the room upstairs, upon your allowance."

Pepper lifted a hand to tap her code in, aware that Tony was watching. She supposed her needed to know. This was his house after all, not her bank account.

Once she had finished, Tony reached over to tap in his own code, quick as lightening. The door before the clicked dully and opened automatically. He beckoned her to follow.

The floors were thick marble, echoing beneath the click of her heels. She stared wide eyed around the place, peeking into the nearby kitchen where she could see stainless steel appliances, a blender, an espresso machine, and a toaster. She expected he didn't have much of a diet, from the looks of the pantry. The shelves of food were enclosed behind glass French doors and all she could see were boxes of store-bought donuts and cookies. The only actually food she spotted were a few boxes of dry pasta, jars of sauce, and various baking essentials.

"Where's Jarvis?" she asked.

He laughed behind her. She heard a jingle and turned to see Tony deposit his car keys on a hook near the door and shrug out of the sleek motorcycle jacket he'd been wearing. "JARVIS, would you like to introduce yourself to Miss Potts personally?"

The voice came from the ceiling above them. "Certainly. I am JARVIS. My name is an acronym for Just A Really Very Intelligent System."

At this, Tony looked rather smug.

JARVIS continued. "I oversee, If you will, all operation of the house including security, operating various robots and within the premises, monitoring and operating the computer systems, and more menially, preparing Mr. Stark's morning coffee and running the dishwasher."

Pepper smiled at Tony, eyebrows raised. "Impressive. So its a computer?"

Tony held up a finger. "Ah, its a he. And he takes offense to that."

"I am no mere computer. I am an artificial intelligence system, programmed and developed by Mr. Stark himself." To her surprise, JARVIS actually sounded slighted.

"Down boy," Tony said. "Mute for awhile."

There was a faint beep and JARVIS's voice was silenced.

"I guess you'll haave to see the workshop, since your hunk of junk is down there," Tony said, rocking back on his heels.

"Hey," she feigned hurt, "It isn't a hunk of junk."

"When it breaks down in the middle of the parking garage, going five miles an hour, it's a hunk of junk." He passed, reaching out a hand to playfully swat her ponytail.

She followed him down the spiral of stairs, taking a quick peek into the living room before she did so.

"This place is fantastic."

"I know, I designed it." At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped at another glass panel, installed beside a set of tall black-tinted windows and a door. "Gonna have to enter your pin again." He waved his fingers at the screen. She did so, and the black tint on the glass windows faded away, allowing her to see through the panes fully. Inside the workshop, three sports cars were lined up neatly, all polished to a show-room shine, sans his usual silver Audi that he'd parked in the driveway earlier.

When he led her inside, she saw two sturdy tables littered with tools, pieces of machinery, wads of wiring, and various other bits she didn't recognize. The workshop was at least somewhat organized, with plastic tubs lined along the back wall, stacked on a metal shelf. She saw no labels, and no clear method to the madness, but she figured he knew where everything was just the same.

Her Prius was at the far end of the shop. A towing company had dropped it earlier, and Tony had managed to get it running long enough to coast it inside the garage.

"You wanna help me by handing me the tools?" he asked, pushing some stuff aside on the tabl top to clear a spot for her.

"Sure," she said, boosting herself up to sit there.

He sat and reclined on a creeper, pushing himself under he hood of her car.

"So Potts. How's school?"

She chuckled dryly. "Fifty-three days til Christmas break."

"That bad, huh?"

"No. It isn't too horrible. I just wish my students were more…passionate about their work."

She could practically see his smile when he spoke. "Like you?"

She felt the blush come back once more. "I suppose…"

"I want to read some of your work. I've seen your artwork, but now I want to read some of your writing. You're a renaissance woman, Miss Potts."

"Hardly," she said sheepishly.

"What do you write?" She heard the clanging of tools beneath the vehicle and a soft grunt as he tugged at something.

"Poetry…" she said softly.

He wheeled himself out from under the vehicle. "Really?" He looked partly between shocked and dazed. A smear of motor oil now anointed his forehead.

She nodded.

He looked down at the tool in his hands, twirling it between his fingers. "My mom wrote poetry."

She watched his far away gaze, how his chocolate eyes grew distant and cold.

"I…" she began hesitantly,"…didn't mean to upset you."

His gae snapped back to her at her words. "You didn't." He gave a smile, only half-forced. She got the feeling her had to smile that way a lot. So much that he actually made it look honest.

He stood passively, depositing the tool on the table near her and brushing his hands on his jeans. "My students are more into it, I guess," he said, successfully changing the subject. "They're sharp as tacks, those kids. No doubt some of them will work for Stark Industries one day."

"And why don't you?" she asked.

He rummaged in a bin on the opposite table until he found what he wanted. "I can't do that. Too much tension between family members."

She didn't want to press the issue after having accidently brought up his mother, but he'd left the statement open, so she continued. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged and settled back onto the creeper, wheeling himself out of sight. "My father and I don't get along. At all. Never have, never will. C'est la vie."

She waited in silence for him to continue or change the subject. "He's always looked down on me. Pretty sure at one point he was jealous of me stealing his spotlight. And two people like us just can't mix. So he runs the company, and when he dies it will probably fall into my hands. If Obadiah's still living by then, I'll appoint him as CEO. I don't want any part in it."

It almost made her uncomfortable the way he talked so casually about his father and his business partner's deaths.

"Stark Industries is a great company, with great people. Don't get me wrong. But I don't go for the zero accountability thing."

When he pushed himself out from under the car again, he leapt to his feet. "Alright, let's test this baby out."

He only slid into the driver's seat halfway, letting his legs dangle out. He revved When he revved the engine, the noise echoed around the smooth walls of the workshop, engine purring as if she'd purchased the car brand new yesterday.

"Sounds great," she said, smiling, standing from the table.

"I know." He grinned and shut off the car. She smiled at the way his hair now hung in his eyes, shaggy and un-coiffed. She only barely flinched when his arms came around her waist, not doubt leaving black smears along her crisp white button down.

"Thanks," she breathed.

"Welcome." His eyes grew dark, nearly black. He was looming closer now, eyes obviously focused on the bright red lipstick she wore.

Before he could even try, she backed up, hand against his chest. "I think I should be getting home."

A pregnant pause sat between them, and she could practically cut the tension with a knife. He finally released her and she brushed past him towards her car.

She fired up the engine, marveling at the sound of it, completely restored thanks to his quick handiwork. She glanced through the tinted glass at his figure, still where he stood near the workbench. She hadn't even thanked him.

Instead of driving off like she'd intended, she rose from the seat and exited the car.

"Hey," she said, slightly louder to be heard over the reverberation of the engine.

He turned to face her, eyebrows up in expectation of what she wanted to say.

Her hands twisted in front of her a moment, unsure. She stared down at the concrete floors, trying to cease the butterflies in her stomach. Finally, her hands shot out in front of her, gripping his cheeks and yanking him forward until their bodies were sandwiched together. The kiss was rough and urgent, sloppy almost. Suprisingly, when he kissed back, the aggressiveness dwindled and his kiss was softer.

His fingertips were light on her cheeks.

She threaded her fingers through his hair.

When the pulled apart, he was grinning like a child on Christmas.

"Call your mom. Can you bunk over?" he said with starry eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

She hadn't stayed, of course.

What kind of woman was she taken for?

Well…she hadn't stayed _the night._

They had, however, enjoyed pizza from his favorite place and a movie. Not much to tell Natalie, but it would at least satiate her new found interest in their relationship. Was it a relationship? She wasn't sure…they'd kissed.

Oh who was she kidding? If they were going by kissing, they'd have a perfectly legitimate high school relationship. They were adults, not children.

She wouldn't let herself got caught up, she'd understood that from the start. So when she found a sticky note on her laptop reminding her of their second date, it was hard not to smile—at least a tiny bit.

When she drove down to the beach that night, where he'd told her to meet, she was wearing denim cut offs and a blush colored camisole, hair still pinned up in a bun from work. Her pumps had been abandoned for flip flops, leaving her several inches shorter than normal. It suddenly struck her that he'd never seen her without heels, let alone wearing denim.

Her repaired Prius parked next to him. He was seated on the hood of his Audi, wearing glossy aviators, a collared button down and tattered jeans. His pricey sneakers had been abandoned by the front tire. It struck her, watching the sunset light cross his face, that this had happened much faster than she expected. He nearly seemed too good to be true. There was something distinctly different about this man.

"Hi," she spoke, and his head swiveled to face her.

"Hey." He lifted himself from the hood in one swift motion. "How was work?"

She blinked as the wind picked up and she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "It was good."

"TGIF?" he said at her flat answer.

She nodded with a knowing smile. She tossed her flip flops beside his sneakers.

She wasn't going to lie; her pulse thumped faster when his hand came around her waist. "I wanted to show you something…"

She laughed breathlessly. "What?"

"Well…" he began, leading her along the soft sand. "I guess this is it really. This is where my dad proposed to my mom."

She tugged away from him. "Whoa. What?"

He snickered. "Don't get to excited, Potts. This is our family's private beach…well one of them. I just thought we'd have a night alone. Relax a little."

She nodded, looking up towards the sky as they walked. The clouds were tinted deep purples and pinks, the sunlight glinting off the water ebbing in front of them.

"Its really pretty here," she spoke, glancing back over at him.

He seemed to be surveying her, taking in her change in attire and her lack of heels. "You're shorter than me for once."

She laughed. "You prefer that don't you?" she teased.

He merely sniffed in response. "So…where did Pepper come from? The nickname I mean."

"It was my brother. He's always called me that, because of my freckles."

"I like the freckles. They're cute."

She hummed passively at his compliment, turning to watch the waves.

She avoided the beach most of the time. Since Nate's accident, she'd never been able to look at the ocean the same. She remembered standing in the clean white sand, trying to block the wind in the speaker of her phone to hear her mother's voice on the other end. Nate, her brother, had been injured in a hit and run. She'd been on vacation with friends in North Carolina at the time.

She ducked her head, back to reality, arms over her chest, silent.

She nearly jumped a foot when his arms came around her waist. "Hey," he whispered. "What are you thinking about?" His goatee scratched her bare shoulder and he hitched her backwards, more comfortably against his chest.

"Uh…" she began nervously. "Nothing."

His fingers worked, not uncomfortably, at the pins in her hair, pulling the red tresses free of their professional twist, letting them catch the wind and spill their flowery scent into the salted air.

She might've protested, but turned in his arms. "I don't really like the water…" she said thickly. "Anymore," she amended.

He gazed at her quizzically, so she continued. "I was vacationing with from friends the summer after my senior year in high school. My brother Nate was killed while I was gone. I was stuck in North Carolina until the day of the funeral because of the stupid airport and…" she trailed off.

His hands gripped her bare upper arms. "That's why you wanted to leave so badly?" he said, understanding. His eyes were lighter brown in the dimming light, almost caramel.

She nodded, pressing a hand to her nose to keep herself from crying. That was nearly twelve years ago now. The hurt had ebbed long ago, but not the dull ache in her chest.

There was a long silence. The wind whistled between them, wrinkling his shirt and tossing her hair.

"My mother…" he began. He removed his hands from her arms. He rocked back on his heels. "She…um…had been sick for a long time…"

Everyone knew what had really happened to Maria Stark. It had been front page news for nearly a month while the details of the incident were gathered. Tony had only been a boy then, only ten. Pepper had been even younger, but she remembered her parents talking about the situation, and seeing Tony's young face on the news, a camera following him and his father as they left the chapel. She wasn't sure if she was ready to hear Tony tell this story.

"You don't have to tell me, Tony," she said, trying to smile as comfortingly as she could.

His mouth smiled nervously at first, then worked into a frown, twisting as he decided on an emotion. "Sorry..." he breathed, and she suspected it wasn't to her.

She grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers. "This place is really pretty," she said once more, trying to change the subject.

His eyes lit up finally, code switching. "Yeah? You wanna see the beach house?"

She nodded, and he led her further down the sand.

-O-O-O-

The machines whirred, mechanically sliced through metal, and buzzed as they assembled his latest contraption. Tinkering around in R&D on off-days was his favorite pastime. He was reaching thirty years of age, and still felt like a kid in a candy store in here. He didn't care if most of the equipment was off limits, or if the usual engineers had special project they'd left on hold. This was him domain. His dad owned the company. No one ever bothered the prince of the castle.

He concentrated hard, eyedropper in hand, squinting into the flask of liquefied palladium. This was serious business. One false move could blow the whole factory. But what were risks anyway?

Just as he'd released two drops into the flask, the door slammed open, nearly making him just but he'd held steady enough to back away from his work and lift his goggles, eyeing his father.

"Cautionary chemicals here. You could knock."

His father eyed the machines behind him, all whirring and jirring. "You never showed for that dinner."

"How many Hail Marys do I have to take now?" Tony continued working, ignoring looking him in the face.

"It was important."

"It was a dinner," Tony sighed. "Get over it."

The large crash following his remark made his turn. One bot had been pushed from the table top, metal arm twitching repeatedly in malfunction.

His eyes rose again to his father.

"You can't speak to me like that."

Tony smirked devilishly. "And yet here I am."

"Do you have any idea how that makes me look, when I specifically ask you to be somewhere and you ignore me?"

"Like a prick."

He watched his father tense, but bravery thundered in his chest. The man couldn't fight back. Couldn't retaliate the way he'd used to. Not now.

"I don't have any responsibility to you or this company," he said.

The graying man sighed. "I'm trying to prepare things, Tony. For when I'm gone. I'm getting older and Obadiah is too. You've got to start thinking about what you want to do. You can't let this company pass into someone else's hands .This is our legacy, Tony."

"I told you long ago I didn't want any part in this legacy, as you call it. Not after Mom…"

"Your mother was ill," Howard began.

"No." Tony snapped suddenly, rage burning in his hcest. "Mother killed herself. You just let the press cover up that fact with the lie that she had cancer. Her cancer had been gone for a year. She killed herself because you were too…too…fucking…" Tony waved a hand, and let his fist fall to the table, incensed. "It doesn't matter now."

His father swallowed. "That's past, Tony. I know you were hurt by that, and I understand."

Tony shook his head. "You don't," he mumbled but his father continued.

"But you've got a lot at stake here. I don't think you're prepared to let it all go on some bad memories."

He turned, staring the older man down. He had nothing left to say. His tongue was like a weight in his mouth. He backed from behind his workbench, pulling the goggles from where they'd been placed in his hair. He was done.

The door slammed behind him as he exited, leaving a metallic clang echoing in the hallway.

-O-O-O-

Pepper had just settled in for the night when he pounded his fist against her door. She answered, looking flustered, wearing a flowered fleece robe and holding a mug of tea.

"Tony?"

He pushed inside, dragging his hands through his hair. "That man has tried to control me for the last time…"

"Tony, what's going on?" she followed him from the foyer through the living room.

"He'll use anything he can to get at me, and over some stupid company that I couldn't care less about."

He paused in his pacing, standing in the middle of the room, hands over his head, palms planted in his hair.

"Hey." She reached for his hands, bringing them down, clasped in her own. She had abandoned her tea mug on the coffee table near them. She brought his hands to her waist, but he didn't let go. He still held her hands in vice grips at her sides. She watched as his breathing evened.

"What's the problem?" she asked quietly, as soothingly as she could.

"My father…" he began, looking down at the ground, concentrating on the carpet fibers.

Her arms burned from being held in their awkward position, and she managed to free herself. His palms settled on the soft fleece of her robe and her hands fell to his cheeks. She watched and waited until he spoke again.

"I told you we've never gotten along."

She nodded for him to continue.

"When…when I was ten, my mom killed herself. She couldn't handle the marriage, the business. She couldn't handle the way we treated one another, which makes it hardest to accept." He sighed heavily and toyed with the tie around her waist.

"I was just old enough to realize how screwed up he was, so I started arguing back, fighting back. She wanted us to have a good relationship. But we never did. Things just intensified tenfold when she died."

She moved closer, wrapping her arms fully around his waist, leaning her head against his chest.

"Its ok, Tony." She didn't know what else to say. She just held him, hoping it was enough.

His arms encircled her, hugging her back.

She closed her eyes and fought the tears threatening to rise. Instead she concentrated on the signature scent of his cologne.

"You're the only…" he began, and then stopped to laugh weakly into her hair. "This is crazy. But you're the only person I…really…trust." It almost sounded like a question.

She pulled away, hands still on his waist. "Sit. I'll make you some tea."

She busied herself in the kitchen, silence settling once more in the house.

After several minutes, she returned to him. He had lounged on her couch, arms behind his head and sneakers abandoned on the floor.

He smiled at the sight of her. "The robe's cute," he teased. His face was still haggard and his eyes rimmed red, but he was coming back to himself at least.

"Thanks." She placed his mug next to hers and sat on the edge of the cushion near him.

His fingers danced affectionately across her collar. "What's underneath, hmm?"

She swatted his hand away with a smile. "Watch it, Stark." She bent close and pecked his lips quickly.

They were quiet again, enjoying their tea. Tony noticed the unfinished canvases near the corner of the sitting room. A desk, probably a restored antique, was scattered with journals, loose papers, folders, and pens. "Is that where you work?" he asked, peeking through the arched doorway.

She nodded. "Yeah."

He sipped noisily. "I want to read some of your poetry."

"Ha. No," she said flatly, feeling suddenly fatigued. She'd been nearly ready for bed when he arrived.

He poked at her spine. "Come on, Potts. You're probably a regular Emily Dickenson."

She reclined on the couch with him, letting him spoon up behind her. "Tomorrow," she yawned widely.

He made a chuckling noise. "Zat'mean I can stay the night?"

"Mmm-hmmm, sure," she hummed, nestling her arm beneath her head for comfort.

He smiled and pulled her hair off her neck before settling his hand around her waist again. "G'night, Pepper."

"Night."


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Short but pivotal. I hope this reaches you as a treat to your final exam week, if you are in university. Study hard!

-O-O-O-

When he awoke, she was gone. He floundered a moment in half-sleep, hand searching the couch cushions in front of him. Finally, he opened his eyes at the sound of her soft laugh.

She was seated nearby, in an antique chair, a sketchpad in her lap.

"…you doing?" he asked drowsily.

She just tapped her finger at the air, silently ordering him to lay back down.

He did so with a huff. "Kinda kinky. You drawing me. Good thing we're not on a ship right now."

She giggled softly, and he enjoyed the scratch of her pencil against the paper.

"Can I see it?" he asked after several moments, dozing off once for a few minutes.

"No," she said quietly, continuing to draw.

"You draw me like one of your French girls and you won't even let me see the finished product?"

She snickered. "Enough with the Titanic references. Come over and see."

He nearly leapt from the couch, now wide awake. He peered over her shoulder, both hands planted on the back of her chair. The sketch was flawless. Tony was curled up on the couch, one socked foot poking beneath the fleece blanket she'd thrown over him, one fist curled up under his cheek.

"I like it," he said.

She folded the sketchbook shut and stood. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I was trying to be done before you woke up but…"

He bent close and kissed her cheek. "Its ok. I like waking up to beautiful women sketching me."

She rolled her eyes and swatted his chest. He tagged behind her to the kitchen.

"You should hang that one up. Frame it. In your studio."

"Don't push it," she said, pulling open the fridge and grabbing two small bottles of apple juice. He grabbed the one in her right before she could even hand it to him, using his free hand to grab her wrist and pull her closer for a morning kiss. She smiled into it, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing back.

He hummed gruffly, trapping her against the fridge, tickling his fingers along her ribcage.

She giggled, momentarily losing control and allowing his fingers to untie the sash of her robe. She wore a thin nightgown, ruffled with pale pink lace at the bodice. He'd barely taken notice before he slipped a hand beneath it, making her gasp and hitch her leg upwards in shock.

His eyes grabbed hers, watching in delight as her blue orbs grew watery and glittery under the fluorescent kitchen lighting. He tapped his fingers along her leg, hoping for just another reaction out of her. He was content just to tease if she kept looking at him like that.

She let out a breath, a hand ghosting over his cheek, pulling him closer.

In the corner, the toaster dinged and rattled nosily, making them both jump. Pepper, flustered, fussed with her robe and nervously tucked her hair behind her ears, moving from beneath him to grab the fresh toast.

-O-O-O-

This was getting out of control. He was falling hard. It was uncharacteristic of him. He'd just spent ten minutes daydreaming, staring off into the corner of his office, picturing that flowered gown, feeling the twitch of her muscles beneath his hand, remembering how her slender fingers had gripped the pencil and how perfect her artwork had been. How perfect everything about her was.

Who was this woman? And how did she have so much power over him so quickly?

He blinked, clearing his head before returning to the computer screen in front of him. His session had timed out. Had he really wasted that much time?

He logged back in, returning to his grade book and entering a few more columns.

There was a soft knock on the door and he glanced up, hoping to see a familiar red head pop in for her lunch break visit.

But one of his students, a girl from his lower level class, entered. Her name escaped him, but he remembered her flirting with a group of guys she'd corralled to 'help' her with the experiment they'd done in lab a few days earlier. She was a Megan Fox look-alike, with long brown hair and slightly overdone rouge.

"How can I help you…Miss…Miss…?" he began.

"Anna. Anna Greene," she prompted.

He nodded. "Yeah, right. What's up?"

She sighed dramatically, settling slowly—a little too slowly—into one the chairs across from his desk. "I'm just struggling with lab…big time. I was hoping for some help?"

"Uh…" Tony straightened up, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

Her manicured nails slid casually across the table, and she bent herself over the desk top.

"I mean…" He swallowed. "Mark, the tutor? He's not helping you?"

She smiled, fluttering her lashes. "You don't think I actually came here for help, do you?"

His brow furrowed, trying to make a plan of action.

"We both know why I'm here, Tony."

At the use of his first name, he stood, pulling his suit jacket closed and buttoning it, giving his nervous hands something to do. "I think its best if you leave."

"Why?" She stood too, but perched herself on the desk, skirt hitching a couple inches. Her fingers reached forward to toy with his tie. "Will that red headed English professor be jealous?"

He faltered, his jaw dropping slightly. "Look. You don't know what you're talking about." He pulled his tie free of her grip. "Get out."

"She's cute. Wouldn't want her to suspect anything would you?"

"I said leave," he snapped, voice rising.

"Fine. But you'll be sorry." Anna tossed her backpack over one shoulder and her brunette curls the opposite direction, filling the room with a scent that was undeniably delicious.

Her green eyes peeked over one shoulder before she left, clicking the door noiselessly back into place.

He cursed, sliding back into his office chair.

This wouldn't be good.

-O-O-O-

The door burst open and the couple stumbled in, carrying a basket of soggy picnic food, a sopping wet blanket, and they themselves soaked to the bone. Pepper laughed heartily, setting the basket on the dining room table.

"Well so much for a picnic…" she said, beginning to unpack the fruits from the basket to chill them once again.

They'd ventured down to the private beach this Saturday evening to have a picnic and stay the weekend in the beach house there. However, Mother Nature had other plans. All the same, time spent in the house watching the rain seemed romantic enough to her.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Tony's hands rounded her waist, sliding against the wet material of her sundress.

She twisted in his arms, looking up into his eyes. They smoldered golden hazel, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. But there was something else. Determination. So predictably Tony.

"Tony…" she breathed. The air in the room felt suddenly thick. The daylight, dim, filtered through heavy grey clouds outside, the only lighting to the otherwise darkened house.

He kissed her, slow, inching her backwards as if to lean her against the table behind her, but she pressed back. He grew frustrated, reaching for the hem of her dress, fingers sliding along her thigh, the same way they had a few weeks ago at her house. She couldn't contain a whimper, though she tried.

He hitched the dress over her head, leaving her in her polka dotted bikini.

He managed to coax her back against the polished wooden table-top. Her protests were over. She couldn't stifle a giggle when he squeezed her rib cage teasingly, arching over her, lips locked on hers.

When he pulled away, he gazed quizzically down at her.

"What?" she whispered, voice raspy.

He didn't respond, but locked his hands around her back, lifting her from the table and against his chest, making certain she was back on her feet before he tugged her backwards down the dark hallway.

Briefly, she wondered if the storm had knocked the power out. But she barely had time to complete the thought before he pressed her against the wall, taking her breath again. His mind changed again and he pulled her into the bedroom behind them, not bothering to kick the door shut.

-O-O-O-

"I didn't know you had a tattoo."

"Yes you did," she said softly, tucking her hands more comfortably beneath her chin. His fingers played lazily at the lines of poetry she had inked on the back of her ribs, curving along with the slim of her waist.

"You saw it when we were swimming."

"'You left me, sweet, two legacies,'" he recited the words.

Neither of them had slept after the afternoon's activities. Both of them had buzzed with adrenaline, content to lay in the bedroom of the still darkened cottage. The sun was setting now, bringing a drowsy shadow through the thin curtains.

"S'it mean?" he asked, pressing his lips to her shoulder.

"Its an Emily Dickenson poem, ironically enough. Its for my brother."

There was a long silence. His fingers traced patterns on her back, her shoulders. "Its beautiful," he finally said. "You're beautiful."

She almost laughed, but instead turned to smile at him. "You're wonderful," she whispered in response, feeling lamely inadequate with her compliments.

"That's right, I am," he said, making her laugh honestly this time. He pushed himself up, hovering over her. "And don't let those flirty frat boys at school convince you otherwise."

She swatted his chest. "Not a chance."

When he kissed her, Anna's face suddenly invaded his thoughts. He should've said something, done something. He hoped she'd just give up once. But he was smarter than to expect she would. He would deal with it eventually. For now he ignored it, kissing her deeper, this time letting her push his back against the wrinkled sheets.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Shorter, but also very pivotal.

Also, can I just say how honored and happy I am that you guys enjoy this story? Thank you all so much, seriously. I can't tell you enough how much I appreciate it. I've been going through a really tough time emotionally, and writing is where I get release. Thank you all so very much and please continue reviewing and reading.

Love.

-O-O-O-

They behaved like children. Even in the wide, echoing hallways of the Stark mansion, they stopped for a quick make out session, mostly initiated by him but who was really keeping score?

They'd managed to creep upstairs, out of sight of the kitchen staff working to prepare an extensive dinner party. This house, she'd noticed, was very much unlike Tony's own mansion. This place was refined, dimmed, and classic. The floors were actual marble, with wide staircases and heavy oak banisters. It reminded her of a haunted mansion from a Stephen King novel, in all honesty. The only bright and inspiring quality was the artwork. She'd found at least tow first edition Monet paintings. Tony had told her these were a gift, and that they had an entire hall devoted to the Stark art collection. They'd just been on their way to see it when they stopped here, between Tony's old bedroom and his father's office.

She pulled away, smirking when she noticed his lips smudged with her red lipstick. "You've got a little something…" She tapped her own lips in indication.

Before he could wipe his mouth, the greying butler rounded the corner. "Excuse me," he said softly, obviously embarrassed at what he'd seen. "I've come inform you that dinner is ready."

"Thanks Jeeves," Tony said, slipping a hand into Pepper's.

Pepper was fairly certain his name wasn't Jeeves judging by his reaction as he turned back to descend the stairs. Tony led the way, pulling her along behind.

They'd been invited to have dinner with Mr. Stark this particular evening, much to Tony's chagrin. She, however, was interested in meeting the man she'd heard so little about.

In the spacious foyer, an unfamiliar man stood, shedding his coat at the door with the maid's help. He smiled widely when he saw the couple approaching.

"Hey platypus!" Tony greeted him, holding his arms wide. The pair embraced, and Pepper noted the man's military dress blues. When Tony turned back to her, he placed a hand on her waist. "Pepper, this is Rhodey. We met…"

"When we were twelve," Rhodey finished. "Boarding school. England." He turned to Pepper, smiling warmly. "James Rhodes, ma'am. Very pleased to meet you finally. I've heard a lot about you."

Pepper blushed, but tensed suddenly at a loud bass voice booming around the mahogany paneled walls.

"And I've heard nothing."

She peeked around Tony's shoulder at an older version of Tony himself. The man's hair was streaked with grey, but father and son had the same build. He wore a suit, buttoned and pressed to perfection, square shouldered and jaw set. He had Tony's features, but Pepper suspected his eyes came from his mother.

"Howard Stark, Miss Potts. I'm very pleased to meet you." When the elder man reached them, he reached for Pepper's hand, lifting it to his lips gently. His moustache prickled her skin. She felt Tony's hand jealously grip her waist tighter.

"Count yourself lucky, Miss Potts," Mr. Stark said, turning for the tall oak doors of the dining room. "Tony rarely brings women around here."

She wasn't sure if it was a compliment or not. Regardless, before she could think, she spoke. "Its Dr. Potts, actually."

Howard turned just before entering the room. His gaze was a mix of shock and disbelief. She heard Tony snort beside her.

The man faced forward once again, leading his guests into the fine dining room. A long, sturdy table stood at the center of the room, adorned with every type of food imaginable, glittering flatware and clean white dishes. She noted several bottle of red wine, each of different and expensive labels. Tony pulled her chair out for her, practiced and perfected from etiquette classes years ago. He perched beside her, though still some distance away on the wide table.

"You're a Doctor?" Howard prompted, sitting at the head of the table. "And what is your degree in?"

She glanced up at a new butler she hadn't yet seen, dressed in white. He silently presented her with one of the bottles of wine and she nodded.

"I've got my BA and MA in English, but my Doctorate Is in Education," she said as evenly as she could, watching the man pour her wine.

Howard hummed. "I see. And you enjoy teaching?" She could hear the bitterness in his voice, almost as if he resented the profession.

"Yes, sir. Very much so," she answered, smiling sweetly.

"Mom was a teacher," Tony spoke, a large sip of his wine already gone. "English, too."

"Yes, but not for very long once she met me," Howard said proudly. "No need for her to work when we were perfectly well off."

Tony huffed, obviously uncomfortable already. Pepper glanced at him, trying a calming smile.

"We built this company up from nothing, old Obie and I," the elder Stark said, cutting the meat that had just been served to him.

"Yeah. And for the first ten years of your marriage, you struggled to make ends meet while you and Obes got your footing," Tony pointed out, shrugging cynically. "Lucky it took off so quickly. Now everything's great but…"

Howard interrupted. "You weren't alive then." He lifted his fork, pointing it in Tony's direction. Pepper glanced at Rhodey who was quietly cutting his steak, as if he were used to the banter.

"You were raised to have everything you wanted and more. Don't act like you were somehow deprived."

Pepper noted that this must be extremely normal between the two of them. They had the knack for arguing without making it seem so.

Tony just shrugged. "I'm just saying, don't treat teaching like it's a second class profession."

A heavy silence settled.

Awkwardly, Pepper pushed her knife into her meat, trying to be a quiet as possible.

Dinner continued quietly, with only one more tiff between the two Starks, a short and mild argument.

When he drove her home, the car was quiet.

"Well that was relatively painless," she spoke after several minutes.

"God…" he groaned, elbow propped against the window sill, hand in his hair. "He's so pretentious."

"Why do you hate him so much?" she asked softly.

His face swiveled towards her, eyes wide. "Are you deaf, Pepper?" he exploded, nearly making her jump. "He's an ass! He tore down your degrees like they were nothing. Oh but Tony's fine because he's a man, actually smart enough to do something with his life. Or so we thought!" He mocked.

"He didn't mean it like that, Tony." Her voice was stiff.

"Actually, he did. You don't know him, Pepper. He makes up his opinions about you in his head, and he'll hold them against you. Its fuckin' nauseating."

She glared towards him, only catching a glimpse of his face when freeway lights passed overhead. "Maybe you should listen to yourself sometime, Tony," she said icily.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, slamming a palm against the wheel. "Now I'm the one who's a dick because I picked a fight, huh? You don't get it, Pepper. You don't understand what he's done my _whole entire _life! How awful their marriage was. And I saw it all! Every day! Every slap and every—dammit!"

She pretended not to notice when his hand wiped his face.

He made a sharp turn exiting, startling her.

She was silent the entire ten minutes it took to arrive in her neighborhood.

When he stopped in front of her home, she paused a moment. She took a breath and swallowed. "Tony.." she began, unsure if she could make it through this sentence. She felt her throat tighten but spoke anyways. "Sometimes…no matter how much people hurt us, even when they're as close to us as a mother and father…we just _need_ to let go. Trust me on that one, ok?"

She looked toward him, eyes crystal blue and glinting with moisture, even in the tungsten glow of the streetlights above.

She bent across the vehicle, cupping his cheek and pressing her lips to his. The kiss was wet and languid. She pressed her forehead against his, hoping he understood just how much she cared. How proud she was, and how safe he was right here with her. If he couldn't understand, she'd just say it.

"I love you."

She felt his muscles tense without even touching him, felt his jaw tighten beneath her hand. For several seconds, she panicked. She'd screwed it up. She'd said it too soon. At the wrong time. This was it.

His hand gripped the one she had pressed to his cheek, giving it a squeeze, acknowledging her concession. "I know," he whispered almost inaudibly. "Thank you," he said after a beat.

She twisted, bending to kiss his cheek before backing out of the vehicle. He waited until she'd entered to drive off, she suspected not for her protection but to gather his thoughts. She wasn't upset he hadn't returned the phrase. He'd said enough in the bourbon color of his eyes, sad, and so, so very lonely.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, she was greeted with another bouquet of flowers, this one different from the tie-dyed roses he'd left months ago. Three, to be exact—had it really been that long? These were gorgeous pansies and violets, freshly picked and perfect for the coming winter. She pulled the note from its spear and unfolded it.

"You're right," it read. Close to the bottom, tiny, almost shyly written, he'd penned: "I've got let her go. And I've got to forgive him."

Tightness built up in her chest. Pain, for him. For what he'd seen, for what happened. For the giant chasm between him and his father that just didn't need to exist. She stowed the note in her drawer, with the other he'd left before their second date. She retrieved a pen and a clean sheet of paper, beginning a fresh stanza. Maybe she'd actually show him this one.

-O-O-O-

Anna Greene was back. This time she'd copped a feel of his backside in lab. He promptly stopped her, hand pressed against the door jamb, blocking her exit.

He glared her down, intent on getting it through that peroxide-rattled brain just inappropriate she was being.

"Look, you can't do this," he said. "Try anything else, and I'll report you to the dean. He won't hesitate to expel you for this absolutely inappropriate behavior."

She gave him those pouty eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He groaned, looking away in exasperation. His head lolled back in her direction. "You know damned well. So cool your jets, got it?"

She inched closer, just daring to kiss him gently. And what was he supposed to do? Push her? Hit her? Risk starting even more problems? If he laid a hand on her, this was no longer solely her fault. She tried again, kissing the corner of his mouth sloppily. Right there in the doorway, facing the hallways outside for any passersby to see.

His turned away, removing his hand from the door jamb, straightening his posture. "Back. The hell. Away from me," he growled. "Try anything else, and you're done. I'm not joking around now, Greene."

She just tossed him an innocent smile and flounced away.

-O-O-O-

By the time lunch came, Tony was less than enthused. Pepper entered his office with two plastic containers of sushi, purchased from the kiosk in the diner. She was impeccably dressed, as always, in a red dress covered with a black blazer and a tiny little silver belt at her waist that he was mentally calculating how to unbuckle.

"You look tired," she said, perching on the edge of his desk. "Did you sleep ok?"

He merely nodded, reaching forward for his sushi. "It just hasn't been the best of days."

She didn't ask him to continue, but waited patiently for if and when he would.

After a beat, she smirked. "I could help you fix that."

He glanced up expectantly, never turning down an offer like that. "Yeah?"

She laughed lightly, poking around in her sushi container. "Later. In my studio."

He whined childishly, planting his elbow on one arm of his office chair, resting his head in his palm, pouting at her. She laughed. "And after I finish my piece for the gallery at the end of the month."

"Aw you actually have to…" he began, then paused. "Wait. A gallery? You're actually going to show them somewhere else other than the school's faculty show?"

She nodded, smiling. "Three pieces." She held up her fingers.

"Pepper!" he said, standing. "That's fantastic!"

She'd always been shy about her artwork, but a small gallery downtown had called, wanting her work displayed for several months. "I know," she said triumphantly and he laughed, pulling her towards him to kiss her.

"I'm so happy for you," he whispered.

"I said I'd make you feel belter didn't I?" She smiled.

He chuckled deeply, hitching her closer to him. "Gimme another smooch, Potts."

-O-O-O-

This gnat just would not go away. Who did she think she was? Was she really that intent on getting some extra credit, or was she just a total creep? Either way, he locked his office door behind after returning from his lecture class to keep any unexpected visitors out. He just needed five minutes to get his pulse under control before he punched a hole in the wall.

She'd cornered him again.

He drew his hands through his hair, debating on picking up the phone to report this to the dean. This was only his first year of teaching and he didn't want any trouble to put his job at risk. But this chick just would not go away! He sank into his office chair, just feeling like taking a long hot shower.

Pepper couldn't find out. She just couldn't. She'd murder him.

He knew he'd already let this get way too out of hand. There was no backing out easily now.

He ran a hand over his face. "Dammit," he said aloud to no one.

He was never good at making his bed and lying in it.

-O-O-O-

Her closet had exploded, as Tony described it from where he sat in the corner of her bedroom amongst dresses, skirts, and shoes that littered the floor, had been strew across the bed, or flung onto the dresser. The opening was tonight and Pepper was alight with emotion, flitting like a hummingbird between her bathroom and bedroom, making sure everything was perfect.

"I just don't know," she said, turning this way and that, watching her reflection in the mirror. She wore a black dress with little bows on the sleeves, and his second favorite pair of heels: with a t-strap and a little silver buckle. Her straight red hair was down, pulled up just halfway with a silver barrette.

"I think you look great," he said, trying not to drown in the sea of garments surrounding him.

She turned to face him. "Where's your bow tie?"

He looked around briefly. "Uhh…"

"Tony!" she squealed, flinging several dresses from the bed, searching for the little scrap of fabric.

"Teasing, Potts!" He said, holding the black strip up in surrender, just wanting to see her freak.

She moved to him, glaring. She punched his shoulder teasingly. "I hate you." She snatched the tie away from him, beginning to tie it around his neck.

"Contrary to popular belief, which is mine…" he mused to himself.

She finished, folding down his collar and kissing his neck softly. She smoothed his lapels, kissed his lips softly.

"You smell great," he said, not realizing he'd said it aloud.

She chuckled. "Go warm up the car while I finish."

"Yes ma'am," he replied, saluting dramatically. He did an about-face from the room, snatching her keys from the counter in the kitchen when he passed. When she met him in the passenger seat, she was wearing a different black dress, this one with a sweetheart neckline and little capped sleeves.

He cocked an eyebrow in her direction.

"Shut up." She tugged her seatbelt down around her.

Once they arrived at the venue, the atmosphere was already buzzing with anticipation and excitement. He followed her in the back entrance to check the display of her pieces. He had yet to see the ones she'd chosen to display. She'd been secretive about it all, wanting him to wait until he was at the opening just like everyone else.

Her painting had their own wall, three medium-sized canvases displayed with little white plaques next to each bearing her name.

The first was a portrait, done of a man he'd never seen before. The title explained to him all he needed to know: 'Nate.'

The next was her landscape of the canyons he'd seen the first time he'd entered her studio. Lastly, she'd chosen to display an interesting piece, one he'd never seen before. She'd titled it 'His Hands,' and he was surprised she'd picked it to show the public. She'd painted a pair of hands working at repairing an engine, surrounded by various tools and car parts on a sleek workbench.

He smiled to himself and stuck his hands in his pockets.

It was beautiful.

"These are nice," a voice said behind him and he turned, facing an over-made brunette in a too-tight dress.

Anna.

"What are you doing here?" he growled. He glanced around for Pepper, finding her some distance away chatting with the owners of the gallery. The room was beginning to fill up, crowding them closer together. Tony felt suddenly claustrophobic.

"I wanted to see you," she said, pouting expertly.

"I told you to leave me the hell alone. And after the stunt you pulled earlier in the week, I'd appreciate it if you dropped my class too. You're failing anyways. Congratulations." He moved away from her, but she grabbed his arm.

"No," she said, glancing from him to the wooden flooring. "I'm sorry. You're right. This was mistake."

He yanked away from her grasp, stalking to an emptier part of the gallery.

"Tony," she said once she'd caught up with him. "I'm sorry. I'll withdraw. I never meant for this to get like this. I'm sorry. Please." She looked up at him, regret apparent in her eyes.

He nearly gave in, but shook his head and turned. He wasn't letting her have what she wanted.

Before he could make it back to Pepper, she pulled him in for a wet, sloppy kiss. This time, he pushed her shoulders just forcefully enough to shove her away a few inches.

"Get out," he said darkly.

She finally backed down, her eyes growing watery. She hurried from the room, carrying her overly-perfumed scent with her, wiping at her cheeks.

He faced the crowd again, steering clear of Pepper for a few minutes, browsing the other pieces alone on the opposite end of the gallery.

Twenty minutes passed without a sight of her. Her friend Natalie, trailed by a burly muscled man he'd never met rounded the corner from a secluded part of the hall. Natalie looked intense, heels slamming into the ground before her. Tony followed them with his eyes as they exited the place. Seemed like he wasn't the only one having issues this evening.

He stood alone several more minutes, trying to get a grasp on what to do next. This was such a big night for Pepper, and he couldn't stand to ruin it for her. He'd make up an excuse and leave. That way he'd be out of sight and out of mind. He turned to find her, which didn't take long.

He came nose to nose with her. Her eyes burned a midnight blue, staring daggers into his own. He backed away a few inches, physically ducking from her gaze. "You saw," he said quietly.

"You're a fucking idiot," she said evenly. His head jerked up again at her filthy language. He'd never heard her curse. Never seen a hurricane in her eyes like the one brewing now.

"What possessed you to think this was ok? Did you think I'd never find out?" she said, then unfolded her arms from her chest, waving her hands in front of her. "No. Forget it. I don't want to hear you speak. Please leave."

"Pepper…" he tried.

"No." She held up her hands, tears dripping suddenly down her cheeks, her composure faltering. "You need to leave."

"Its not like that," he protested.

She sucked in a breath, which only produced more tears. Her intake of breath was strangled as she tried to keep herself together among the people milling around them. She lifted her hands between them, backing away like a wounded animal, her knees visibly weak. "Stay away from me," she said, and turned away, disappearing among the crowd.

Incensed, he left the building, tugging his cell phone from his trouser pocket to call his father's driver to pick him up. Everything was ruined now. He had opportunities to nip this in the bud, but he'd ignored it. Now he'd lost her. He'd lost everything. "As usual," he muttered to himself once he'd hung up the phone.

"Hey fucker!" a voice shouted from the street.

"Natalie!" a male voice protested.

He glanced up a Pepper's friend approaching at full speed. Her deep red curls bounced behind her, and the same man from inside followed her, trying in vain to grab her hand and pull her away.

"You hurt my best friend," she accused, lifting a finger to his face. "You're a dick. I hope you fucking know that. Good luck keeping your job after this. Sleeping with a student? In what universe did you think that was ok?"

"Natalie," the man said again, grasping for her arm.

"No!" she shouted at him, turning back to Tony. "I want to know!"

"You don't know what's going on, Red. So relax," Tony snided.

"So inform me!" She crowded into his face. "She's a nice girl. The nicest one I know and the nicest one you'll ever get. And you go and pull this shit? You're fuckin' ruined, Stark."

"Don't you think I know that?!" he shouted at her. His cheek burned before he could even register she'd hit him.

His hand reared back in instinctual defense.

"HEY!" Happy pressed between them, twisting Tony's wrist back in one fluid motion. "Its time for you to leave," he said sternly, releasing his arm.

Tony backed away, rubbing at the spot where the man had gripped him. He could hear Natalie still shouting, but the blood rushing in his ears blurred out her words. Ten minutes later, the driver showed up. Behind the bullet-proof glass, Tony felt like a coward. He'd just screwed up the best thing he'd ever had. Hope for repair was senseless. There was no going back from this. He'd resign tomorrow. That was the best thing to do. For both of them. He'd take the job his father had offered. Then maybe everyone would get what they wanted.

Everyone except him. Just as the universe was intended.

He wasn't complaining. He was the one who screwed himself over every time. He just wished it hadn't been Pepper. She deserved immensely more than this. She deserved someone who was brave enough to admit that he was in love with her. Brave enough to admit she was the best thing that ever happened to him. Not someone who was coward enough to let it go to waste.

He rested his forehead against the cool glass, in desperate need of a tall bottle of scotch right about now.


	9. Chapter 9

She yanked the clip from her hair, letting it fall in tangled strands. She attempted to catch her breath, chest heaving. She tugged her earrings off, tossing them in the general direction of the jewelry box. Right now, she couldn't care less. She struggled with her zipper, finally tearing herself free of the suffocating material. She nearly tore her stockings, and threw them somewhere in the bedroom.

A dry sob escaped her lips. She scrubbed the palms of her hands over her eyes, surely smearing her makeup.

How was she honestly that stupid? How could she have trusted him so quickly? She knew better.

She knew better all along. But she let herself fall for him.

She rifled through her drawers, fishing out a pair of pajamas and shrugging them on, her chest still dry and tight.

Her phone buzzed from somewhere in the room where she'd tossed it in a rage. When she finally found it in her purse, Rhodey's name flashed along the screen.

She answered harshly. "What is it? If you're calling on his behalf, tell him to man up and call me himself. Other than that, leave me alone."

"Pepper! Wait!" he shouted. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about, but there's been an accident."

She froze.

Suddenly she couldn't even breathe. Could even try.

"He's in Marina Del Rey. I'm on my way there now, passing through LA from San Bernadino. Do you need me to pick you up?"

She was still silent, memories of Nate flashing through her mind. It was happening again. "Oh my God…" she heaved, anxiety taking over.

"Pepper. Listen to me. Take a deep breath."

She sucked in air, feeling out of her element. Like a fish too long in the sun.

"Do you need me to get you?" he said again, more firmly.

"Yes..." she managed.

"Text me your address. I'll be in LA in ten minutes."

The call disconnected. She sank to her bed behind her, now in full-on panic mode. Her hands shook, Her breathing had just barely calmed down and now her chest heaved again. It was happening all over again. Nate. Not being able to get to him. And the worst part—the unthinkable—was if she couldn't make it in time. The things she'd said couldn't be accounted for.

She finally gained enough composure to text Rhodey, rising from the bed to grab her purse and a pair of flats, not bothering to change from her pajamas.

When she slid into the cab of his truck, her breathing was under a tad more control, but she still felt nauseous. Dizzy. Out-of-body.

"What happened?" she managed to choke.

He didn't answer. His hand, remarkably cool on her skin, fell to her shoulder. "Are you going to be ok?" he asked evenly, slowly, like speaking to a wounded soldier.

She nodded.

His hand fell back to the wheel, and they pulled out from her driveway. "There was a pile up on the PCH. The driver was killed on impact, and Pepper…Tony's dad was part of the pile up."

She felt her insides churn.

"Tony?" she squeaked meekly.

"He's pretty messed up. I don't have all the details. They would only disclose so much over the phone."

She was quiet now, leaning her head against the cool glass window next to her to get her bearings. For the next half hour they rode in silence at top speed, the radio playing softly but ignored between them.

-O-O-O-

When they arrived, Pepper flew wildly into the emergency room at full speed. Her palms slammed against the nurses' station desk. "Tony Stark," she blurted, breathless.

"He's in surgery, ma'am. It will be a few more hours until…"

"Surgery?" she exploded. "For what?!"

The nurse was taken aback at her tone of voice. Rhodes appeared behind her, finally caught up to her breakneck speed.

"He's…well he's broken his hip and shattered his femur, along with most of his ribs on the right side," the nurse said warily, clutching a clipboard to her chest.

Her elbows thudded against the countertop, her head falling into her hands. "Oh my God…" she sobbed.

Rhodey put a hand on her shoulder, an attempt to comfort her. "Come on," he whispered. "Come on, let's go sit."

She followed blindly, unable to walk properly on her shivering limbs.

Once he sat her down, he tried to get her breathing under control. "You need to calm down, Pepper. Take a breath for me."

She tried, only ending up hiccupping, her breath coming in short pants.

"Slow down…" he eased, his voice soft. "Calm down. Everything's going to be ok. He's alive. He'll get through surgery fine. And then you can see him, ok?"

She nodded, squeezing her palms together in her lap. Her breathing evened finally after several minutes. Rhodey stood to purchase two water bottles from the vending machine, leaving her alone in the waiting room. She stretched out, suddenly exhausted. Her neck ached already, her head only propped up on her arm, the vinyl chairs not the best choice to sleep. But her eyes closed before she had time to realize.

-O-O-O-

Seven hours later and thirty minutes of bargaining on Rhodey's part, Pepper was allowed inside his room. She nearly backed out in fear at the sight of him.

His face was littered with small bandages, covering gashes from shattered glass. His body was wrapped and bandaged tightly. Machines around him beeped and hummed. Just twelve hours ago he was perfect and dapper in his suit. Just hours ago she'd cursed him and asked him to leave. Hours ago the last place she wanted to be was anywhere near him.

Now she inched closer, as if just her presence in the room would shatter the—at least seemingly peaceful—state he was in.

She didn't even want to touch him. She wasn't sure where she could.

And she broke again.

She tried to cry as quietly as she could, behind her hand, eyes squeezed shut tightly. "My God, Tony…" she breathed. "I am so sorry."

Her eyes ached, but tears seemed to continue. "I'm sorry…" she breathed again.

She'd never gotten a chance to see Nate, now thankful she hadn't. By the time she'd made it home, his body was already in a sleek black box. If this was penance, she wondered what she'd done to deserve it.

She covered her mouth with both hands, opening her bleary eyes at the sound of sheets shifting.

He was trying to move.

"Tony…" she whispered.

He shifted again, pain spilling over his muddled features.

"No, Tony, don't…" she said, moving to him. She feared that he'd cause himself more pain. He wasn't entirely conscious yet, obviously caught somewhere in a drug-enduced haze.

His lips parted, just slightly. His eyes didn't open yet. He was still trying to push through the fog.

"I'm right here, Tony," she said softly. "Please don't move. You'll hurt yourself more."

"H—" he breathed, the syllable forced and crisp.

"No. No. Shhh…Don't try to speak. Just rest. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

As the world became clearer, he grew more restless.

"I…" he began, struggling. He palmed the mattress, looking for a way to boost himself up, not yet aware that he was unable to sit up at all.

"Shh…I know. I know." She placed her hands on his shoulders, keeping him down. But he fought her.

"No," he rasped softly, eyes squeezed shut, face twisted in pain. He twisted uncomfortably against the machines and tubes around him.

"Be quiet, Tony. And sleep."

"I love you," he managed, voice like gravel.

Tears sprang from her eyes again, streaming over her raw and reddened skin. "I know you do." She smoothed a hand over his slick black hair. "Go to sleep."

-O-O-O-

She managed to sleep a few hours in his hospital room, in the reclining chair next to his bed. Rhodey had brought an obscure blanket to cover her. It was thick, smelled of men's cologne, but welcomed. He brought her lunch, made sure she was eating. But Tony was rarely awake after she'd first seen him. Only every few hours or so, he would wake and ask for water. Rhodey or a nurse would help him to drink.

For the past few hours, he himself had been in a deep sleep. She was glad. He needed it.

When he grew restless, she would smooth her fingers through his hair.

This process was going to be a long painful one, she already knew. He was going to have to have a lot of therapy ahead of him.

As she watched him, her fingers dragging through his hair, he stirred with a groan. She reached for the cup of water nearby, bringing the Styrofoam rim to his lips. He drank greedily, almost too quickly and she pulled the cup away for fear he'd choke himself.

"Mmm…" he hummed huskily, opening his eyes just a sliver. "You're still here," he rasped.

"I told you I wasn't going anywhere."

He smiled—or at least tried. "I'm sorry." A flash of guilt passed through his red rimmed eyes.

"Shh.." she said, pushing his hair back once more. "Its nothing. I've put in your emergency leave anyways, and mine too."

"Why?"

"Did you expect me to go back to work with you like this? You're crazier than I thought, Stark."

He smiled wider. Then frowned, shifting uncomfortably. "…wrong with me?"

"You shattered a lot of ribs. Don't try and sit up. Just rest. Your hip's in bad shape too." She wouldn't tell him the surgery he'd gone through to piece the bones back together.

"Can tell…" He winced.

They were silent for awhile, and she thought he'd drifted off again. But he spoke. "I heard the TV. About my dad."

She nodded, glancing up at the now muted TV screen. "Yes. He died on impact Tony. He was in another car, but the pile up was so extensive that…" She swallowed. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't move, didn't blink. But then he spoke again. "Ironic."

She watched a clear stream trickle from his eye, down his battered cheek. She reached up to wipe it away.

A bruised hand reached up to hers, grasping it, keeping it pressed there against his cheek. He sniffed painfully, trying to maintain his breathing to avoid any excess pain in his ribs, but he couldn't stop the flood.

He pressed his face in her palm, squeezing his eyes shut and letting the moisture run into the smooth creases of her hand.

"Its ok, sweetheart. Its…"

He drew in a strangled breath. "I never said goodbye."

And it wasn't a cliché plea of regret. It was honest. Raw.

She moved as close to him as possible without hurting him, leaning over the bed, inclining his head towards her. "I'm sorry…" she began.

He reached for the hoodie that hung limply around her shoulders, fisting the material in his hand, desperate to be near her, to smell her, to feel her. Pain throbbed in his abdomen and his leg, but he ignored it for now. The cavern in his chest was deeper.

"I love you so much, Tony," she said, combing her fingers through his matted hair. "Don't forget that."

He let out a loud breath. He coughed painfully, settling back down on the mattress. His abdomen burned, but his tears were now dried.

She shed the jacket, leaving her in a plain grey t-shirt. She tucked in the jacket around his shoulders. "Sleep." She leaned down and pressed a kiss to one of the bandages on his forehead. "I'll see you in a few hours."

He shifted deeper into the mattress. "You gonna stay here?"

She smiled at him, settling back into her chair, pulling Rhodey's blanket over her. "Of course."


	10. Chapter 10

AN: I hope you are happier with this. :) I am.

Enjoy.

-O-O-O-

The next time he woke, she was asleep. He watched her through hooded lids, weighed down with pain meds and general fatigue. It was probably something pumped through the vents here that made him so sleepy all the time. He hated these places.

He watched her stir, tugging the blanket up beneath her chin. He smiled to himself.

He never thought he'd meet someone like her, someone he adored, someone who's presence he never wanted to leave. She was incredible. Perfect. Beautiful, and loyal, creative, and smart. Sometimes bossy. Always stubborn. But wasn't everyone?

As if sensing his stare, she woke, stretching languidly along the vinyl chair she was propped in. Several vertabre popped. When her eyes met his, she smiled warmly. "Hi," she whispered in the quiet room, illuminated only by the emergency light over Tony's bed.

"Hey," he rasped tiredly.

She stood, stretched again and popped her neck. She moved to his side, fingers gently running along his arm. He could've sworn that his bruises and cuts felt instantly healed at her touch.

He smiled tiredly at her, lolling his head to the side.

"You want anything? Water?"

He nodded, pouting.

She had to smile. He was such a child when he was sick or hurt. She held the Styrofoam cup to his lips and he drank.

"I wanna go home…" he whispered.

"I know, sweetheart." She ran her fingers along his arm again and he whined, half tired, half in pain.

They were silent for several moments. He glanced up at the clock. 4:59 a.m.

"Look," he whispered. "The deal with Anna. You need to know that it was all her. She basically stalked me. I couldn't get away from her, and I'm so sorry it ended up like that. Really I am."

The backs of her fingers brushed his cheek tenderly and he bent towards her touch. "Its ok. Don't even worry about that. I know."

Almost like a cat, he pressed her for more attention, rubbing his cheek against her fingers.

She laughed softly. "You need a shave, caveman."

"Ask Rhodey to help me. These nurses would probably nick me."

"I will when he gets here. You should go back to sleep."

"I've been sleeping for twelve hours. I don't think I can sleep anymore. Tell me a story?"

She laughed aloud. "No."

"I wish you could lay down with me."

She grinned. "Thanks for the offer."

Silence again, as she rubbed his hand.

"Tony. Have you heard what they did to you?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yep. Plate in my hip. Wires in my leg. I'm a pipin' hot mess," he said passively. If he could've shrugged, he would've.

"Are you ok with all that? I mean…there was nothing I could do. It was the only way to…" She babbled. She was guilty she hadn't shown up before the doctors had chosen to operate.

He shook his head, effectively silencing her. "I'm Iron Man," he said, smiling weakly. "Get it?" He glanced up at her, expecting a smile in return.

The smiled ghosted across her lips but was replaced by a fragile frown. She shook her head. This wasn't exactly funny to her. He always put up that defense mechanism—humor—when he didn't want himself and others to feel uncomfortable. But it never seemed to work on her. She was too quick, too grounded to be thrown off by a stupid joke.

"Sorry…" he whispered. "I get it. I'm an invalid now."

"Oh, Tony," she said sadly. "That isn't what I meant at all."

He reached out to her, his fingers catching the soft material of her blouse. His eyes grew far away. She wondered what he was remembering, but didn't ask.

"You're going to need a lot of physical therapy after this. It'll be a lot of work."

He nodded. "I know." He pulled his hand back, letting it rest back at his side. "So what are we going to do about my father?"

-O-O-O-

Pepper worked with the company to get press releases on the loss of the elder Stark. Crisis protocols were put in place, and a funeral quickly planned. Tony was able to attend, in a wheel chair.

He didn't speak at all that morning. He'd been silent when she helped him dress in his tux, eyes on the floor, never on her. Now, here in the dim church, stained glass reflecting in his bourbon pupils, he looked more lost than she'd ever seen him. People passed, whispering their apologies and condolences, but he didn't respond. Didn't acknowledge them.

She'd been surprised to learn that Maris Stark was a practicing Roman Catholic, and the patriarch's solid atheism was covered with a detailed service, complete with insence and candles. Press was allowed, but only from the highest respected newspapers and magazines. Pepper could tell Tony was uncomfortable with their presence and if he wasn't stuck in the chair, he'd be slamming their expensive cameras to the ground.

She saw a flash of rage in his eyes when one photographer had the nerve to move forward in the church, snapping a picture of them where they saw at the edge of the aisle in front. She stood in his defense. "Please," she whispered to the man, trying not to interrupt the ceremony. "Delete your photos," she said sternly, hands up between Tony and the photographer. "Have some respect."

When they arrived home again, at Tony's mansion, he asked, softly, to be pushed to the elevator and then left alone. She obliged.

She heard him jostling about upstairs now, but decided he needed his space for awhile. If he needed help, she insisted that he ask.

Physical therapy was hard for him, but he was pushing through it and already further along than the doctors had hoped. She could tell the new weight and tightness in his leg and hip bothered him. She saw the flashes of pain in his eyes when he tried to walk without his chair. She couldn't imagine the feeling of having this heavy invader in her body that she'd have to live with forever, because of a careless mistake that wasn't even her own.

She decided to pick up dinner for them, and buzzed him through the intercom to let him know.

When she returned with two sandwiches, she found him on the couch, clutching a bottle of scotch in one hand, hanging lazily between his fingers. His arm was behind his head, and he turned away from her, staring up through the tall windows over the ocean.

She strode purposefully to his side, leaving the dinner abandoned on the counter. She cupped his cheeks gently, pulling his gaze to her. "Tony, you can't drink while you're taking this pain medication," she said gently. "How much have you had?"

His tired eyes lolled to the bottle in his hand. "Just this," he said hoarsely. He'd just skimmed the top, too exhausted too lift the bottle to his lips after the third sip or so.

She gently tugged the bottle from his fingers, setting it on the low table behind them. She eased down on the cushions next to him, letting her fingers immediately go to his hair.

"You don't understand…" he sniffled groggily.

"Yes, Tony," she said sadly. "I do."

And he was crying again suddenly. This time, not softly into her hand, but clinging to her, grasping her clothes and her hair. She shushed him gently, pressing a kiss to his cheek. She didn't notice the moisture on her own cheeks until they dripped onto the shoulder of his undershirt. She buried her nose into his shoulder, just holding him. Eventually, he silenced, but never let her go, holding fast to her petite frame.

"Come on," she whispered after several moments like that. "Lets get you to bed."

The day had been long enough for both of them. Dinner was forgotten and they retired upstairs. She helped into a pair of pajama pants and eased in beside him on the massive king sized bed.

This was the first time she'd ever stayed at his house, she noticed.

He faced away from her, curled up on a pile of pillows, hunched over himself. She knew he'd wake up sore if he slept on his side like that.

Her fingers came to trace his bare shoulder. A few bruises still stood bright pink against the skin, peppered along his shoulder blades and spine. She tugged his shoulder gently towards her, effectively pulling him onto his back without waking him. He was dead asleep within minutes, and she listened carefully to his breathing to be sure that the alcohol hadn't caused any problems.

She inched closer, laying a hand against his chest, tucking herself closer to his warmth.

She wished she could fix this. Take it all away. The physical pain. The emotional hurts. She wished someone had been there to do it for her when he parents died. They hadn't exactly been on good terms then, much like Tony and his father. When they died, she was left with no one. Nothing. There were many things she wished she could've mended. Things that didn't need to be said. And she knew Tony felt the same. There was a respect there, regardless of whether they got along or not. It would take time to mend, but she would be there every step.


	11. Chapter 11

His drinking was getting worse, and secretive. She'd noticed. Even though he did most of it during the day while she was at work, the supply of bottles that lined the backsplash in the kitchen grew short, and the cooler of wine near the walk-in cigar humidor had been rearranged.

She knew the whole ordeal had been hard for him. He was doing well in his physical therapy, though she assumed he was always physically resilient with the need to get back on his feet and working again. Working kept his mind off things, and stuck in a house all alone wasn't helping the situation. She needed to return to the school this semester; she couldn't afford to take any more time off, though she wished she could be with him more often.

Instead of helping, as she wanted to, she was growing more distant.

She found him one evening in his workshop, sitting inside the hot rod, hands frozen on the steering wheel.

She wondered if he'd used the stairs or the freight elevator. His doctors had warned against using stairs for the time being. He still hadn't gotten full range of motion back in his leg, and though she insisted he use the cane or the wheel chair the doctors had provided, he avoided them.

She opened the door of the car as quietly as she could, ducking inside.

He didn't even flinch or turn to look at her.

"Hi," she whispered. She continued asking if he'd eaten or showered, but contested not to nag him right now.

He didn't respond to her, but bent closer to the wheel, peering out the window as if he were focused on some invisible race track before them.

They sat a few moments in silence, and she could smell the thick, pungent scent of alcohol from his breath and skin.

The backs of her fingers reached up to brush his shoulder. "Tony…" she whispered.

He sniffed and pulled away just slightly.

"How long have you been here?" she asked quietly, pushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes.

He didn't answer, didn't pull away, just stared ahead.

She sighed, pushing a hand through her bangs. "Tony…" She sighed. Her voice cracked audibly. "Tony you've got to talk to me. You can't keep doing this…" She looked away from him, out the window at the surrounding cars and worktables, a mess as usual.

"San Diego," he said suddenly, and she glanced over at him.

"What?

"San Diego." His hand brushed against the smooth leather on the steering wheel. "My dad and I bought this car in San Diego in the summer of 1990. I was twelve. It was…" He laughed softly, brushing a hand over his smiling mouth. "It was a rusted piece of junk. It was yellow then. So we gave it a new coat of paint, souped up the engine. We finally got it running, and one day he promised we'd take It out for a drive. That was the morning of my thirteenth birthday." He smiled again fondly. "I woke up early, hurried through breakfast and barely even got a proper shower I was so excited. I hadn't spent time with him in months because he'd been so busy. And then Tawny—that was our maid—she told me he'd gone to New York for the weekend."

He shrugged and looked over at her. His brown orbs were a watery butterscotch color. She watched him for a moment, and smiled sadly.

"Tony…" she whispered. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "You said it before. I've got to let it go. I can't keep wishing he would've told me loved me, or even that he liked me. I can dwell on the past all I want, but I can't change anything. The best thing to do now is to just let it go."

Her hand moved over his on the steering wheel, rubbing the pads of her fingers over his knuckles gently. She leaned closer, putting her head against his shoulder.

-O-O-O-

"I don't want to be Dr. House," he complained, eyeing himself in the mirror, leaning against the black wooden cane the doctor had insisted he use when walked around or standing. He was doing well enough to stand on his own now.

"You're only adding to your 'costume' with your wrinkled shirt and pants. Let me iron them," she insisted, ressting her chin on his shoulder, reaching around him to unbutton the light blue linen shirt.

He bent his head closer to hers, smiling at them in the mirror.

"You aren't complaining now, are you?" she said with a laugh, tugging the shirt from his shoulders.

He tried to hold tight to her, reaching for her elbow, his lips puckered, but she was out of his grasp and at the ironing board in the corner of her bedroom.

"I want to make a promise to you tonight," he said from behind her, his coll fingers tracing along the fabric of her tight blue dress. She felt her breath hitch.

"Hmm…and what's that?"

"No." He kissed her neck. "Distractions. You and me. That's all."

She smiled over her shoulder. "I know." She turned and faced him, holding his shirt out for him to redress. "I know. I've got Natalie on speed dial, and she's prepped and ready to come slap you around should there be any said distraction."

He looked bewildered a moment, and she tugged the shirt over his shoulders. She leaned up on her tip toes to kiss his lips. "Kidding," she countered, buttoning up his shirt.

"You're sexy when you dress me. And you're sexy when you threaten me," he teased, squeezing her ribcage. She giggled and flinched away, picking up her clutch to smack him with it.

Tonight, she was displayed more art at the Los Angeles Modern Art Museum, Her piece, the painting she'd done of his hands, had earned acclaimed reviews from experts and curators around the area. These particular pieces she'd be displayed were less personal, though just as wonderful. She was auctioning them off to raise money for the University: to fund a new library specifically catered to children. And what a fitting cause, he thought, taking her hand as they walked out the door of her house.

"Déjà vu," he said, suddenly uneasy. But she kissed away the nervous creases at the corner of his mouth, locked the door, and led him to the car.

-O-O-O-

After the show, they ventured to a restaurant, sharing a bottle of wine.

He hadn't looked himself all night. Not that he'd been himself for the past few weeks.

She set her wine glass soundless on the clean white tablecloth, looking up at him. He avoided her eyes, concentrating on the fibers in the rug beneath their feet.

"Could you promise me something else, Tony?" she whispered.

He looked to her sharply, attentive now.

She pursed her lips, considering before she spoke. "Promise me that you'll talk to me. Please. I need to know what's going on with you. You're…you're quiet and distant, and though I understand why, its honestly…hard to watch."

He shook his head, looking away, back down at the tableclotch, plucking a loose strand there. For a moment, she thought he was refusing until he spoke. "I don't know if this is going to work." He gestured between them.

"Excuse me?" she breathed.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I just mean..." He shifted in his chair, glancing around the room before leaning closer to her. "I'm self-destructive, Pepper. I eat and eat and eat at myself until…" He sighed, shifting. "And then I start to eat at other people. Have you noticed I have no friends besides Rhodey? Because he's the only one who's stuck with me through all my bull shit. And I just don't want that to happen to you, Pepper. For you to feel obligated to stay with me because if you don't, I'll explode. I don't want to use you like that because…you're amazing, Pepper. You're the most…fantastic woman I've ever met."

She blushed, glancing away.

"And I couldn't stand it knowing that it was my own pride that drove you off."

Pepper smiled sadly at him. She didn't answer, but bent to her clutch, retrieving a narrow envelope. "I wrote this a long time ago," she said. "I meant to give it to you a while back, but things got crazy. So…maybe it can clear up the questions you're having."

She passed the envelope across the table and he looked at her questioningly before hesitantly slipping a finger beneath the fold and tugging it open. It contained a simple, single sheet of typing paper with several stanzas typed neatly.

He glanced up at her. "Pep…"

She just smiled and motioned for him to read on.

He did.

'_This man, this man, you see, he had a heart,  
A heart broken and bound by shame  
Hatred and anger. He lived alone in doubt  
And fear that consumed,_

_Soundtracks replayed of endless nights and  
Memories vivid as day,_

_Into thorns and vines his heart was safe,  
Leaving only an empty cavern there to fill,  
Iron he became,  
Unbend and unbreakable,_

_Fire blazed, but he stood strong,  
Water rose, but rust had no power,  
When the gravity overwhelmed, the cavern grew too deep  
For him to be alone,_

_He sought a friend,  
A hand, a mend,_

_The metal began to melt at the touch  
Of this new light,  
Turning molten at her touch,  
And the reasons for why not seemed now not so much,_

_Hurts came and hurts they went,  
But together through fire they did not recant.'_

Once he finished, he looked up at her, eyes wide. "Pepper…"

She smiled warmly, feeling the familiar swell of pride and hint of fear at being so intimately known. But she noticed his eyes glittering, and didn't mistake his hand coming up to wipe at his lashes.

She reached across the table, taking his free hand in her own, lacing their fingers.

"Well," he said, leaning back in his chair, glancing upwards. "I guess I'm sold."

She laughed and reached up to run her fingers along his cheek.


End file.
